Perpetual Motion
by Fate'sSkirt
Summary: War leaves its scars, and Harry Potter finds his path to healing as he hunts in the wilds of Siberia. (Gen fic, no romance)
1. Prologue

Prologue

A moral compass. So simple a thing. His was distorted – not gone yet, though. He still fought, and only the good fight. That was how he justified all those murders. Rapists, genocidal politicians, serial killers, many of the world's worst were dead by his hands. He also never hurt the innocent, and if he could help it he would give aid. Though, all the murder and charity… he might have been compensating for his shortcomings during the Second War. Just maybe.

So many shortcomings. Inability to plan – running around the countryside in a tent for a year, how _intelligent_ that was – impulsiveness – oh yes, let's just rob Gringotts, the safest place to keep any belongings besides Hogwarts – lack of training – destined to fight the greatest Dark Lord since Grindelwald, and hardly fit to fight – and a slew of other things. But never would he count in that list the ability to love; Dumbledore had been impractical to think that love was the key to killing Voldemort, but Harry had been able to love and enjoyed the friendships he once had.

No more. No more friends, no more Ginny, no more love. Not even affection.

Sometimes, he thought that the little piece of Voldemort that had been part of him took that ability to love with it when Harry had died for a short time. Of course, after leaving the wizarding world, he had learnt something of the mental disorders that the muggles had begun to understand and diagnose. He knew some of those _disorders_ had taken hold of his mind once his destiny had been fulfilled. He had cracked, so to say, once Voldemort was dead.

So yes, he left the wizarding world after his friendships dissolved and love life crumbled, and Harry Potter became a vigilante mercenary. Not the worst choice for a boy turned savior turned pseudo-sociopath with PTSD. But also not the best choice.

Therapy likely would have been ideal.

* * *

Six months after Voldemort's defeat, Hermione and Ron were killed the night of their wedding at the reception. Execution style, bloody, gruesome, cruelly sadistic, not a single soul in the small party was left alive. Harry had departed prior to the post-ceremony celebrations, not wanting to be accosted by admirers or the sight of happiness that he could no longer feel. The investigation that followed revealed organized crime to be the culprit.

Survivor's guilt amplified, and the most Harry had left was Ginny.

"I can't do this anymore, Harry."

He gave her a blank stare and said nothing in response. Ginny's face was twisted by sorrow, tears dripping slowly down her cheeks; she continued speaking, voice choked and thin.

"A year of this, ever since the Battle at Hogwarts. Nightmares, silence, arguments. Hours of you training everyday for no reason other than guilt…. You can't do this either, I can see you're not happy, not who you used to be and that I'm no help. I'm leaving."

She levitated her belongings to the fireplace.

"I'm sorry."

Harry couldn't quite tell if she said it or he did.

* * *

His friendships fell apart quickly after the breakup. Harry thought, at the time at least, that it was because of the breakup that his friendships fell apart. Ginny had been his last strong link to those friends – the remnants of Weasley Clan and the former Order of the Phoenix – and with the dissolution of their relationship, he no longer had someone to encourage him to leave the house occasionally and see them. Really, though, the issue was Harry himself. There was little left of him other than guilt.

They tried to talk to him, nonetheless, though it was a fruitless endeavor. He was rarely there anymore – neither in his abode, nor in his heart. He was busy finding his way into the underbelly of Britain. If he couldn't love them, he would at least keep them safe.

The murders of his two closest friends only gave Harry further reason to delve into the underworld. Someone had ordered their deaths, and he was intent on finding them.

Vengeance and guilt were his bread and butter.

* * *

Sixth months into the wizarding underworld of crime. A moniker, an alias, what-have-you – Dominic Lee was the name. Slightly longer, still unruly hair obscured that ghastly scar. No more iconic glasses. The green eyes stayed. He looked like himself. But not. It was enough for people to not connect him with Harry Potter, or at least they tended to pass his resemblance off as coincidence. After all, the _pristine, precious_ savior would never sully his hands in the underworld.

Idiots. Well, maybe not all of them were idiots. A few were intelligent enough to spot him while the memory of Harry Potter was alive and well. They tended to make acquaintances with an obliviate. Although… wands. Those iconic little pieces of wood. He tried not to use them. Wandless magic was the way to go, and very early on in the underworld he forced himself to learn it, along with the animagus transformation, with the help of a black market time-turner.

But if he had to use one… it was the Elder wand. The hero was gone, and the holly wand hidden. Failure, the trademark of his old life, was unacceptable, and the Elder wand never failed.

Harry scuffled with the peons on purpose, just to be noticed. He won every fight, made a name for himself, or rather the other criminals gave him one and spread the word.

His reputation bought him alliances with prominent crime lords. They were on their guard – as expected of criminals who had clawed their way to the top of the heap with violence and intelligence in equal parts – but he always kept his goal in mind and worked around security. Sometimes he was kind and poisoned the wretches in their sleep. Usually, he staged lovely, dramatic deaths for them. He once turned a sphinx against its master at a dinner party. Gruesome carnage, and no less than the raping embezzler deserved.

Ultimately, Harry Potter toppled nearly half of the underworld's kings – including the former Death Eater bastard that had ordered the execution of the _savior's _dearest friends – before he was caught in the act of killing the sixth. It was one of the rare times he was caught off guard, and his oversights were costly.

He almost died that night.

Or rather, he died and came back to life. Again.

When he regained consciousness the next day – washed ashore in France of all places, his body apparently disposed of via the English Channel – he was surprised to be alive, what with the effects of a well aimed Avada Kedavra being undone. Thankfully, though, his possessions had remained on his person in his invisible, expandable pocket.

The other Hallows had appeared, uncalled for, and revived him; with their arrival he stopped regretting the numbing of his heart and feelings. He did not wish to love and let go, as an immortal would doubtless need to do. He was selfish and fearful, and decided to eschew friendship and affection so that he may avoid watching beloveds age and die. Harry Potter was already a broken man, but bearing witness to the deaths of so many would do more than break him.

He feared what that thing beyond breaking was.

So he returned to England, liquidated all of his assets, withdrew each galleon, sickle, and knut from his vault at Gringotts, bought massive quantities of any and all necessities for traveling at length, and disappeared into the muggle world; all his possessions were stuffed into a never-ending suitcase, which in turn was stowed in the expandable and invisible pocket of his favorite dragon hide cloak. Hunting the filth of the world became Harry's purpose. He could not conceive of an existence that bore even the smallest risk of attachment; though he did doubt his ability to even be affectionate, there was that slim chance of nurturing affection again. A life of vigilantism was the only answer he found, besides being a hermit.


	2. Chapter 1

The Taiga and the Sea

Silver mists caressed the skies, centuries old evergreens bathed in the pale dusk of twilight, and mountains – majestic, imposing, ancient – grasped futilely at the sun's fading rays of warmth. Mammalian creatures of all types scurried through the undergrowth as they sought sustenance and cover for the night. The expansive Siberian taiga was enjoying the end of a crisp spring day.

Dragon hide swirled through the undergrowth; the dark cloak ensconced the looming figure of Harry Potter – silently prowling, a predator on the hunt. A high collar and chin length, unruly black hair obscured the pallid yet masculine features, except for two green eyes that glinted like shards of glass. Dully, almost inaudibly, the man's boots thudded against the decomposing foliage underfoot.

The cracking of a twig rent the silent and still mists, echoing through the vastness. Harry noiselessly whirled toward the sound, reaching out toward the source with his senses – impeccable senses, physical and mental, honed by three years of wandering and hunting.

It was a life form. Sentient and humanoid, though rather far away. Harry sneered frigidly behind his collar, satisfied with his findings.

Perhaps that cagey Russian serial killer was hiding out here after all.

* * *

Harry pursued the life form for twenty minutes at least, following once he silenced all his bodily sounds – the breathing, the thudding of his boots, the swish of the cloak – and draped the invisibility cloak over his dragon hide travelling cloak. It was possibly the longest chase he had undertaken yet, and he knew it was no simple human. The killer was part vampire or full vampire, which made the lengthy chase understandable. Still, it was irritating for Harry to be bested in any way by a criminal, no matter if the pursued man was vampiric.

Irritation rapidly vacated the hunter's mind and was replaced with alarm when the thick fog suddenly dissipated. Harry abruptly found himself standing at the edge of an inland sea, which was shining iridescently as the moon and stars began to emerge in the night sky. More alarming was the small settlement on the shores of the water; he had not sensed any life forms other than his prey. The buildings were delicate and ancient, steeped in archaic magic that reeked of something deeper and older than he could comprehend. In his daze, he hadn't noticed that he had slipped the invisibility cloak back into his pocket.

A dulcet male voice broke into Harry's musings, saying, "I believe you were looking for me."

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Harry's head swiveled to face the owner of said voice. He was faced with a stranger, cloaked in material that shimmered in the starlight, changing hue and luster as the breeze sauntered through. The man was brunette, tall, and slim, with grey eyes that simultaneously pierced Harry's own eyes with intelligence and wisdom yet radiated warmth.

There were pointed ears, too.

No fangs, though. It appeared not to be the cagey Russian serial killer vampire. Not at all, except for the cagey part. Harry wandlessly un-silenced his body and spoke, his voice carefully monotone and wary.

"No. I was looking for someone else."

The stranger tilted his head to the side quizzically, with an eyebrow arched minutely, as he inquired, "May I ask who?"

Harry considered his response for a moment; the man was obviously magical by the sign of those ears – possibly part veela, if the unnatural beauty and radiance the man exuded was anything to go by – so Harry opted for the truth, not worrying about the Statute of Secrecy: "A Russian vampire."

"Your quarry has been taken care of. We disposed of him several hours ago."

Delivered so matter-of-factly, and without the body as proof, Harry could not help but express doubt as he said, "Is that so?"

The response was immediate and even: "We burned the body. There is nothing left of him but ashes as evidence of his demise."

Silence ensued, dense and suffocating just like the fog on the mountains, as Harry deliberated his next move – to believe the man, or not believe the man? He did not want to follow an unknown man to a questionable pile of ashes. The ashes could be a fake, this stranger could be insane – possibly even the Russian vampire in disguise. Harry decided on an illegal solution to this conundrum – legilimency. His gaze bored into the stranger's unnerving eyes – grey and blue, with sage knowledge and deepest sorrows – as he queried, as peaceably as possible, "Who are you?"

"My name is Elladan."

No sign of lies, but there was something in those eyes that showed this Elladan knew exactly what Harry was up to. There was, perhaps, the tiniest hint of an indulgent smirk in those grey depths. Well, if it was that entertaining, Harry had no qualms about asking one more question while employing legilimency.

"What are you?"

That indulgent smirk expanded into a miniscule smile around the eyes.

"I am no vampire, if that is what you inquire about. I am an elf."

Still no lies, so Harry ceased using legilimency. Though, he did express his doubt of this claim to being an elf as thoughts of Dobby – memories of better days – pranced through his mind: "I've never seen an elf like you before."

The elf outright chuckled at Harry's unasked questions before declaring, "Follow me. My brother and I will answer your questions in the comfort of our home."

With that, Elladan walked away, all grace and poise and unnatural perfection, back turned to Harry – a complete stranger.

Elladan called to Harry after a few moments of indecision on the wizard's part, gently intoning, "Come now, young Mister Potter. You needn't dawdle."

Suspicion and caution clawed their way onto Harry's carefully controlled expression as the wizard deliberated this deceptively simple declaration. Elladan knew Harry's name, but the wizard had not introduced himself. That meant Elladan knew – about the savior, about the mercenary, about the murders if the elf could recognize Harry Potter the man rather than Harry Potter the boy. Elladan knew it was dangerous to turn his back on someone like Harry Potter.

A gesture of trust? A truce, perhaps? Or maybe the elf had something up his sleeve.

Curiosity crept into the wizard's mind. He hadn't felt such a thing in years. This reawakened inquisitiveness paired with Elladan's gesture of vulnerability drove Harry to follow elf, and the wizard hoped he would not regret the decision.

It took scant minutes, spent in silence as the night deepened around them, for Elladan and Harry to arrive at the elf's abode. The wizard paused for a moment outside the home, evaluating his surroundings and absorbing the incandescent beauty that permeated the place. The three stories home was built of a pale timber, but its appearance was such that it seemed to Harry that the wood had crystallized into marble; upon closer inspection, Harry realized the architecture itself was unlike anything in the world of wizards or muggles. The decorative motifs and construction so closely resembled the shapes and sights of nature that Harry found himself wondering if anything could seem farther removed from a building. It seemed as if the delicate structure had been built by nature's winds and earth, rather than having been constructed by hands and tools. Gleaming silver lanterns lent the embellishments and façade of the building an opulent radiance.

Harry broke from his observations as a voice eerily similar to Elladan's called from inside the threshold of the home's elegant doorway.

"Ah, I see you brought a guest, Elladan."

The wizard cast his gaze toward the silhouette in the doorway. Warm light filtered around the shape of the man – the voice was male, at least – indicating a fire within the abode. Elladan gestured behind him towards Harry as he said, "Indeed. Elrohir, this is Harry Potter. Harry Potter, this is my brother, Elrohir."

Elrohir stepped away from the backlit doorway into the sparse yet sufficient light of the lanterns, and bowed at the waist, saying, "Well met, young Mister Potter."

Harry imitated the elf's actions – only bowing low enough to be polite but keeping the two elves in sight – while ruminating on the resemblance between Elrohir and Elladan; the resemblance was strong enough that the wizard concluded they were twins. Before Harry knew it, he was ushered into the home and seated at a table in the most magnificent yet understated dining room. The paintings and tapestries were exquisite and ephemeral, timelessly immaculate.

Abruptly, one of the twins spoke from across the table; Harry couldn't quite tell which one was speaking, and which one was silent.

"Now then, Mister Potter, I am sure you have many questions for Elladan and myself. Feel free to speak your mind here – we pose no harm to you, and will answer your questions to the best of our ability."

Ah, so it was Elrohir speaking on the right. Their voices sounded nearly identical, though perhaps Harry could detect a hint of baritone in Elrohir's voice where Elladan's was solidly tenor. The wizard's brows furrowed together intently as he considered what to ask first without being rude. For reasons unknown to himself, Harry was inclined to be respectful. Perhaps it was the ambient magic, or the inkling that these elves were far more complex than their perfect appearances and obscenely sublime home suggested.

Deciding to ease into the conversation, Harry returned to a topic he had touched upon with Elladan, saying, "Elladan, you said you're an elf earlier, but I have not seen an elf so humanoid before. Perhaps a fairy, but never an elf. How is this so?"

"That is simple, Mister Potter. We are an old race, and we have sequestered ourselves here while our brethren evolved in the outside world; faeries are some of our distant kin."

"How can that be? There are recorded instances of Sumerian wizards encountering modern species of faeries as early as 1500 BC. Your race must precede that by a large margin for evolution on the magnitudes you speak of to be possible."

Elladan continued to be the main conversant of the brothers, saying, "The world is older than recorded history, young wizard. Far older."

Harry decided to let the elves know of his earlier assessment of the settlement by saying, "Like the magic here?"

"Ah, you are a keen observer, Mister Potter. Yes, the magic here is quite old, perhaps predating the earliest writing systems modern humans know of."

Harry absorbed this information for a moment, reaching out toward the magic of the settlement again to fully appreciate the age and scope of the ambient magic. Then he noticed it – the magic in their home was saturated with the essence of the two elves. There was no trace of any other sentient creature spending extended periods of time in the abode. That meant Elrohir and Elladan were at least as old as the damn building and the magic permeating the environment.

It took mere moments for Harry to absorb this information, and the wizard's tone became slightly accusatory when he spoke next.

"It would seem that the two of you also predate recorded history."

Harry awaited their response with baited breath, though he did not have to wait long as Elrohir responded quickly enough, intoning without any heat, "You are correct. We predate much of the history that is recorded in the human world."

At this confirmation cold alarm spread through Harry's veins. If they were telling the truth, then he was well and truly in deep shit; Elrohir and Elladan could be literally _thousands _of years older than him, and unnaturally gifted with stealth and whatever else this rare species of elf was endowed with. If they were lying, there was an elaborate set-up in place – extremely elaborate, who would claim to live so long for a set-up, and for what purpose? – and Harry was the butt of an extremely unkind joke at best, and at worst in for some horrid surprise attack.

The elves discerned the wizard's discomfort – Harry's eyes had narrowed, his shoulders stiffer than only moments previous – and sought to ease his mind as Elladan spoke soothingly, "If your fears would abate, you may look into our minds for harmful intent or lies and continue to use your mind magic, so long as you do not pry too deeply. You have our permission."

Visibly taken aback by such an invitation – and a verbal acknowledgement of the elves' awareness of the wizard's use of legilimency – Harry glanced to Elrohir for permission as well; the elf nodded his acquiescence when Harry's sage-green met Elrohir's slate-grey, and so Harry wordlessly initiated the Legilimens spell.

Only cursorily glancing into their minds (he didn't want to subject them to a thorough interrogation, that would be simply uncouth and unnecessary) Harry didn't find a thing other than well-meaning intent and a terrifying abyss of age in either elf. Brushing over their recent memories of this conversation, he found no hint of lies.

"So… you don't mean me harm and you haven't lied. Why do you tell me these things? More importantly, why do you hide yourselves away? Your kind could probably give much to the world, with all your accumulated knowledge."

Elrohir answered Harry, mildly declaring, "We cannot possibly answer that all at once, Mister Potter, so I will answer your second question. As a race, we have already given more than we ever intended to give to the mortals of this world. The evolution of our kindred races was complex, and resulted partially in the birth of wizards as you know them."

Elrohir paused for a moment, obviously attempting to gather innumerable complex thoughts into a coherent summarization. He succeeded after a few moments, continuing, "Time wore on after the golden ages of the elves, and as some of our own's blood thinned and lost its magic by increments, more of us lived amongst mortals. The children of these faded elves and mortals resulted in the wizarding race. Our faded kindred gave mortals the innate knowledge and magical ability that had once belonged to the elves exclusively."

"What do you mean, faded? Why did some of the elves fade?"

"Fading is the process of becoming mortal; in ages past, fading was reserved for elves that had endured great hardship and had lost their will to live. These faded elves were new generations born after much of the greatest of our kin departed for our natural home – a home distant from this earth and unreachable for mortals. Our magic was thin, and our place in this world was no longer secure. We are not designed to dwell in small numbers among mortals, Mister Potter; our children were destined to fade once the greatest elves had left and the Age of Men began."

Elrohir's brief explanation rang true through Legilimency, but one detail caught Harry's attention: "Age of Men?"

The other twin explained this detail: "The Fourth Age was the Age of Men. We are currently in the Fifth Age, which began when the old kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor fell during the first great Wizard War. That war wiped out much knowledge of old, even reshaped the lands, and humanity rebuilt their civilizations with sparse fundamentals to refer to. It was after the first Wizard War that the Sumerians and Egyptians began to emerge in recorded history, and that was the time around which we settled here and veiled our existence."

The wizard processed this information as rapidly as he could before asking a question that had been at the tip of his tongue for several minutes: "And when were the two of you born so that you know all of this so intimately?"

Elladan answered again, saying, "Early in the Third Age, which was well over 3,000 years long."

Harry barely restrained a gasp of surprise; if that was the typical length of an age, then these two were quite old – possibly around 10,000 years old. The wizard was a little boggled by the sheer magnitude and scope of such a long life, and he voiced as much when he faintly muttered, "This is… overwhelming."

Elrohir smirked – not unkindly – as he quipped, "Yes, and we haven't even answered your earlier question."

"Oh yes… why you're telling me these things. I would still like an answer to that question."

The mischievous smirk on Elrohir's face evaporated as he spoke, "Very well. We know you seek acceptance – a place to thrive and feel again – and redemption. You cannot find both these things in this world any longer. While you might find acceptance among us, the last of the immortal elves are destined to leave this world soon, and though you may join us as a fellow immortal, you would never find the redemption you desire amongst us. You feel you must fight and save the innocent in order to find redemption – redemption from your youthful mistakes made in the fight against your own Dark Lord. Those opportunities do not exist where we will go, though they do in this mortal world. In either choice – to go with us or remain amongst mortals – you will lose either acceptance or redemption. We offer you, through an unexpected path, an opportunity to obtain both."

For just a moment Harry was surprised by their intimate knowledge of his own immortality and inner feelings, but considering their very magical origins, he considered the possibility that they were prototypical Seers. Instead of lingering on their potential Seeing abilities, Harry focused on their rather vague offer, asking, "What would this offer entail?"

Elladan responded evenly as he said, "The details are not privy to us. We are, however, certain that you would find more joy and restored heart should you take this path, rather than wandering endlessly as a misfit in a world of mortals. There would, of course, be trials and sufferings, but that is a given in any existence you choose to undertake."

Harry stared at the two brothers for several tense minutes, deliberating their words. There were no lies to be found, as he had been using basic legilimency for the entirety of the latter part of their conversation. Elrohir and Elladan were certain of their words – that much Harry discerned from their surface thoughts.

Still, he couldn't help articulating skepticism about their complete conviction by saying, "How can you be so sure? Are you Seers?"

Elrohir gave an impishly evasive response: "In a way, yes. A type of Seer, at least."

No lies still. The wizard broke eye contact and broke the mind spell as he deliberated his next move. Harry didn't even know why he was seriously considering their offer; perhaps the wizard was considering simply because they were being so simply honest and genuine – qualities that he had difficulty finding even with his mastery of the mind arts. Maybe he was a hopeful fool still, despite all the years of trying to annihilate his unfavorable qualities. He had thought all his hope had died with Hermione and Ron, and with the death of his fleeting relationship with Ginny.

But… perhaps he was willing to forgive his own foolishness for the sake of the flicker of hope he felt burgeoning deep within his damaged heart. One indulgence could not hurt. Even if it did hurt – or even kill him – what harm would it do? The world had already forgotten him, writing off Harry Potter's disappearance as a mystery, and death would not be so horrible; he had already experienced death twice in differing capacities. "The next great adventure," as his beloved headmaster had once said.

Malachite green eyes rose from the table's polished surface, meeting with two pairs of pearled grey eyes. Determination, and more than a little self-destructive impulse, made the wizard's eyes glint harshly in the golden light of the fire and lanterns.

"What do I need to do?"

* * *

A crystal bridge beneath his feet, Harry Potter crossed the waters of the Bay of Cuiviénen, embarking on a new path in his life as the full moon rose to its zenith in a clear sky. An island was his destination, but as his foot descended to touch the sands of the isle the crystalline waters of the Sea of Helcar stirred. Winds rose suddenly, unbidden, and a water spout snatched one Harry Potter into its clutches.

With the barest flash of light, Harry Potter soundlessly disappeared as the water spout calmed.

* * *

"I suppose we should ring the bells and gather everyone so that we may leave. Our task is done."

"Indeed, Elladan. All these years we waited to send off a mere boy."

"True, but he is important. He will grow to be a rival of Saruman's. Without him, the War of the Ring would have been far more brutal. We had to stay so that Cuiviénen remained open to him."

"You are right, of course. Eru is kind to give him this opportunity."

"Yes, Eru Ilúvatar is very kind – kind enough to return Cuiviénen to us as a means of leaving this world. I suppose, though, it is only fitting that the last of the Firstborn should leave this earth where the first elves awoke all those ages ago."

"Appropriate, indeed. Come, let us cease dawdling. I long to see Ada and Naneth again."

* * *

(11/26): I don't even know what happened here. Lord of the Rings and HP just wouldn't leave me alone. I might just leave this as is. It's mortifying how poorly thought out this is right now. (Also, unedited and involves a lot of the larger Middle Earth legendarium).

(Ada and Naneth are Sindarin for Father and Mother)


	3. Chapter 2

**Bold** indicates conversation in the language of Harad. _Italics_ without quotations indicates thought. Plain text indicates English or Westron – more likely Westron.

Minor OC in this chapter – he will disappear, don't worry.

The South and the Captive

Breathe – in, out, his chest rises and falls.

_Scent: Forest, possibly tropical. _

Hear – a bird, a frog, a distant rumble from a predator's chest.

_ Sounds: Wildlife, unusual – unidentified species possibly._

Feel – tendons stretch, fingers scramble in earth.

_ Touch: Soil underhand, decomposing plant life._

A twitch of the eyebrow, a crinkling of the corners of eyes.

_ Visuals: None._

His shoulder is stiff, digging into a tree root.

_ Status: sore, headache, items still on person, unharmed._

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, ending his haphazard mental cataloging of the surroundings. Late morning sunlight filtered sporadically into the undergrowth, piercing the darkness cast by a tropical canopy. Dense, humid air soaked his messy locks and pressed his dragon-hide cloak into dewy skin. Disoriented, he rose to his feet suddenly and recklessly threw his senses outwards, not bothering to cloak his presence – mental or physical.

No repercussions for his clumsiness would come: there were no humans, nothing intelligent, for miles around. However, as the wizard surveyed the land he realized he had never been anywhere near here before. The earth felt unfamiliar under his hands, the trees too wild and old, the creatures too foreign – too unlike the untamable creatures of the tropical regions of the world he knew.

Harry Potter had been too many places for him to not know where he was. He sorted – with a calm sort of panic – through his memories to see how he could have come so far away from civilization, and came up short at his pursuit in Siberia. This – humid, hot, and most definitely a tropical forest – was not Siberia. His memories were incomplete then, and that meant that he had somehow been captured, his memories altered.

"Shit," spat the wizard.

He would have to take a trip into his own mind and see the damage himself. How unpleasant. But first – precautions.

Three hours, eight security spells, three cooling charms, and one mind spell later found Harry Potter viciously glaring at the noon sky. He had perched himself high in the canopy of an ancient tree, making a flat for himself at the point where the enormous trunk branched outward. There was no damage, no sign of alteration, in his mind.

He was no master of the mind arts, but Harry was proficient enough (actually, an advanced mind arts apprentice would be hard put with Harry Potter) to recognize that this scenario was unusual – a gap in his memory, with nothing in his mind demonstrating alteration. Only the finest practitioners of the mind arts could accomplish as much, and he knew almost every one of them by name, face, and magical signature. He would have known any one of them was coming long before they could have found him in Siberia. Baffled and frustrated, the wizard momentarily considered casting an overpowered _finite incantatem_ at his mind, and then scrapped the idea. His mind would likely be better off laying in Azkaban for a decade than doing that.

Time to investigate the old-fashioned way, then. Harry sighed and pulled the Elder wand from the holster inside his sleeve, saying lowly, "Point me, civilization."

* * *

It began simply enough – search for civilization, see if the locals spoke an intelligible language, ask questions if so, learn the language and then ask questions if not. Even with the use of his Firebolt II (the gift from Sirius had been retired, it was too precious for use) it had taken nearly an hour for him to find a settlement, and the forest jungle had thinned to fertile plains and savannah beneath his soaring form. Eventually a city came into sight, walled in on all sides and reminiscent of the ruins of iron-age civilizations that Harry had seen during his travels in the Middle East. Despite the antiquated appearance, Harry was unperturbed; European wizards, after all, lived in medieval castles and still used quills and parchment – no need for alarm.

When he was near enough to arouse suspicion by flying, Harry dismounted his broom and approached on foot, cautiously covering himself in the invisibility cloak. The walls drew nearer little by little, and then raised voices carried to the wizard's ears; he stilled, stretching his senses toward the sounds, and he heard a language unintelligible to him.

**"Keep moving!"**

** "Get him up!"**

A troop of soldiers, arrayed in armor and armed with scythe-like swords and spears, was marching just out of Harry's line of sight, though an unevenly paved road meandered in and out of eyesight. He could tell, through his magically enhanced senses, that one in the party was out of place; miserable, underfed and dehydrated, that was the state of one, whereas the rest were healthy and in high spirits. A hostage, perhaps?

The voices came closer, raised in both frustration and jubilation; soon the soldiers were in sight, within easy earshot of the immobile wizard. Two soldiers in particular were conversing nearest Harry; they looked to be of higher rank than the rest, due to the slightly more intricate patterns on their armor and weaponry – possibly captains.

**"The general will be pleased."**

** "Indeed, a Gondorian scout, one of high rank no less, is quite a prize. They are usually not so solitary, though."**

** "Put such trivial details aside. He is captured and will be questioned – that is all. Mayhap this capture will earn us reprieve from guard duty on the borders for a time."**

Harry understood none of what they said, and decided to silently cast a language spell. He first opted to try a quick fix language spell – to no avail. The soldiers continued conversing, and Harry continued to comprehend nothing. Not an unusual result for a lower level language spell. The wizard opted for the longer route, choosing a language spell that deciphered the patterns of the language and implanted the knowledge in the caster's mind. It was not an easy fix for his situation – the spell required complete aural immersion in the language for three hours – but it allowed for a level of fluency and naturalness that the quicker language spells (which attempted direct translation) could not achieve.

In his preoccupation with the language spell, Harry had not watched the soldiers too carefully, merely keeping them in his peripheral sight, but his attention was recaptured when the wizard heard a sharp, pained grunt as one member of the troop fell to the ground. One of the captains turned around to face the party, turning a sharp glare on those nearest the fallen member.

**"I said get him up."**

** "He will not stand, captain!"**

The speaking soldier gestured to the fallen person, tugging on bindings and ropes wrapped around the collapsed figure's limbs. Harry concluded there was most certainly a prisoner in the group, though he still did not comprehend the captors' words.

The captain barked in response, **"Drag him, carry him, whatever it takes!" **

And so the troop moved forward once more, with the captive forced onward, arms in the hands of two soldiers as his knees trailed against the rough stones of the road.

_How primitive_, thought the wizard. Harry made no move to intervene, though, as the captive was as of yet not being treated with cruelty. The wizard simply followed, listening in on the conversation and absorbing the language slowly.

Twenty minutes later brought the company, with invisible wizard in tow, to the gates of the city. The group traipsed through the city along a wide, paved central road, which seemed to branch off in multiple directions. Everything was built of brick and mortar, horses and camels pulled carts to and fro, people walked about in robes and head coverings to protect against the sun's heat, and not a single sign of muggle modernity was in sight – not even the blare of a radio or distant hum of a motor. Harry was slightly perturbed by that, since the humans around him were certainly not magical, as he had ascertained when probing their auras carefully.

Suddenly the noise level increased by tenfold; Harry peered around, and found a bustling bazaar on a side street to be the source of the commotion. Glancing at the company and prisoner, the wizard resolved to leave the soldiers; he needed to be immersed in the language for another two hours yet, and soldiers were hardly a good source of steady conversation. A marketplace would be far better suited to his needs.

Harry veered off onto the side street, pausing and taking pity on the prisoner for a moment as he dodged shoppers and salesmen alike. He cast a tracking and status charm on the prisoner; if unjust treatment came upon the man, Harry would know.

And so the wizard perched on a rooftop, opened his ears, and learned a language over the next two and a half hours. He was about bored out of his mind with the gossip and hollering salesmen when his charms sounded in his mind, startling him enough to break him out of his stupor. Mentally, the wizard ran through the report that his charms were transmitting.

Back lacerations. _So a whip was being used_, he surmised.

Potential for infection. _A dirty whip, lovely_, Harry snarked to himself.

Well, he was done learning for the day anyway.

* * *

Through a palace, into a dungeon complex, 30 minutes of time invested, and Harry found a rather injured man behind bars, left lying in a pair of tired trousers and a pool of blood drawn from his ravaged back. The man was tall, likely several inches taller than Harry, with dark hair and pained grey eyes. As the wizard approached the man's cell, the prisoner groaned pitifully while attempting to drag himself toward a tray of water; his captors, being vindictive, had deliberately left food and water outside of his reach.

Deciding to test out his new knowledge of the local language (as well as ascertain the man's condition and potential status as prisoner of war), Harry stepped back several paces out of the prisoner's sight, cast a few security charms to ward off passerby, and withdrew the invisibility cloak from his shoulders. He approached once more, deliberately slapping his boots against the stone floor to announce his presence. The man raised his head, dread and anticipation clear in his eyes as Harry advanced closer to the iron bars.

**"Hello,"** said the wizard, in as unobtrusive and placid way as he could manage. The prisoner merely narrowed his eyes in response. Harry, undeterred, continued speaking in the hopes that he would not have to resort to legilimency in order to determine the man's political status in the city.

**"My name is Dominic - "**

The grey-eyed prisoner interrupted, his voice strained and gravelly as he said, **"What are you here for? Have I not answered your questions already?"**

**"I have other questions for you."** The injured captive stiffened at that, likely anticipating further interrogation and pain, and Harry hastened to quell those fears, as he continued immediately, **"In no way do I intend to cause you harm – I will even free you. I want to know where I am, what year it is, and why you are here."**

Harry knew his questions were odd – he had tacked on the question of the date only after he considered a general lack of modern gadgetry – but the wizard had nothing to lose in this scenario. He had an intent audience, who had incentive to answer him now that Harry had offered freedom. The detainee's expression tightened visibly in deliberation, before he offered a hesitant answer.

**"This is the palace dungeons in the capital city of the Harad. We are one week's journey from the borders of Gondor, newly expanded by King Hyarmendacil but two years ago in 1050. I am a scout, captured after wandering too far afield along the borders as I searched for signs of insurrection."**

Silence fell over the pair for some minutes, the prisoner growing impatient and weary as Harry assessed his situation. _Such odd answers,_ drifted the thought through the wizard's mind. None of the names were familiar, not even from Harry's extensive travels, and the date was far more disconcerting. Was he in the distant past? Even so, the names were still unfamiliar – though perhaps his poor attention in history class all those years ago was to blame. Though, it would not hurt if he were in the distant past. There was no one for him to miss him in his own time.

Grey eyes met green as the wizard's calculating gaze drifted downwards to the injured man. The wizard's gaze deepened, and the prisoner found himself unable to look away. Harry was gently, discretely sifting through the man's thoughts, gleaning his name, rank (son of a nobleman), and basic knowledge of the region; however, the wizard stopped himself short of thoughts and memories deeper in the man's mind – he had a handful of morals left, after all, and the man seemed decent enough to not warrant such treatment. There were questions that still needed answering, but he had all the time in the world as the immortal Master of Death.

Harry thought for a moment on whether the man knew of magic, and then discarded the thought after deeming it useless. He had flouted the Statute of Secrecy before, and there was a good chance that the Statute of Secrecy was not even a law here.

Without warning, Harry broke eye contact with the prisoner and unlocked the door to the cell, having quietly summoned the guards' keys on his way into the dungeons. The prisoner's eyes widened in surprise, and Harry surmised that the man had thought the wizard would abandon him, sated with his answers.

Eyeing the prisoner's wounds, Harry asked, **"Do your wounds need tending?"**

Suspicious of his savior's words, the prisoner responded, **"Why do you stay? You promised my freedom, not my well being or certain escape."**

Choosing to let the man ponder, since the wizard was not in a talkative mood, Harry simply kneeled – unbothered by the blood seeping across the floor – and passed his open palm just inches over the man's back as he cast a healing spell. The split skin and torn muscles stitched together, leaving lightly scarred skin in its wake. Obviously bewildered, the captive stood up, experimentally stretching his shoulders and back as he fetched his shirt, which had been abandoned in a corner of the cell.

Turning back to face the wizard, the captive's tone was plaintive as he said, **"I am Deonvan, son of Ceonvan. You must be Elvish, to work such magics."**

Harry pondered on Deonvan's choice to introduce himself at last; perhaps there was something inherently trustworthy about Elves here? The wizard was fairly certain that the man was not referring to house elves, and as such curiously peered into Deonvan's surface thoughts concerning Elves.

_Fair, magical, wise, old as time _– well Harry could certainly argue he was not many of those things, though if Deonvan had mistaken him for an Elf it would explain his willingness to introduce himself. One of Harry's eyebrows ticked upward sardonically as he responded, **"I am hardly an Elf. But I am magical – a wizard, if you must put a name to what I am. Now, you may follow me if you wish to leave. Or you might dare a solitary escape. Either is acceptable."**

With that, Harry retreated through the unlocked cell door, never breaking eye contact as he summoned Deonvan's personal items and weapons from the guards' station, set them on the floor, and briskly made for the dungeon's exit.

* * *

Deonvan ultimately chose to follow Harry – though he knew the wizard as Dominic. The Gondorian had no better option, but his decision rewarded him with an easy escape. The wizard had cast several spells on them both, making certain to demonstrate on himself before laying enchantments on Deonvan. The spells left them transparent and difficult to track audibly, and the two made short order of exiting the city.

When the walls of Harad's capital were far behind, Harry removed the spells as he intoned, **"There is no more need for stealth."**

Deonvan paused in his stride, causing the wizard to do so as well. The former captive bowed his head respectfully and placed his hand over his heart as he firmly said, **"I thank you for your kindness, Dominic."**

Doing his best to not be flippant, Harry plainly offered, **"You are welcome, Deonvan son of Ceonvan."**

** "If you have need of provision, or a secure place of rest, I am certain that the Gondorian border guard will offer as much in exchange for my safe return."**

** "I do not have such need. I merely ask that you do not repeat your capture and waste my work,"** said Harry, failing miserably at being cordial or friendly. Thankfully, Deonvan's grey eyes crinkled subtly with humor when he responded.

**"Very well. Then this is a parting, is it not?"**

** "That it is. Take care, soldier of Gondor."**

** "Farewell."**

* * *

Deonvan returned to Osgiliath in two week's time, after having reported to his captain at the borders about his capture and subsequent rescue. He took particular care to describe his savior – a man named Dominic, cloaked in all black, dark haired, with striking green eyes, and gifted with magic.

* * *

Harry, however, remained in Harad's capital city, absorbing the culture and politics while attempting to discern exactly when and where he was. He did, however, make sure before parting ways that the tracking charm on Deonvan was still active.

* * *

The autumn sun drifted into the courtyard, illuminating the Elves and Wizards gathered there in Rivendell. Galadriel's long hands settled on the back of Elrond's chair as she uttered her words, "There is another. I have seen it."

Elrond concurred, saying, "Yes, reports have come from Osgiliath that a wizard appeared in Harad several months ago. Young – no more than 20 years by the reckoning of Men."

"A child wizard? Nonsense," said Saruman, quick-tempered and sure as usual.

Gandalf countered, "But a child wizard there is. Dominic is his name in Mannish tongues."

Elrond directed the conversation in a more fruitful direction as he declared, "He did not arrive with the other Wizards and Lord Glorfindel, as such we do not know his intentions and purpose here in Middle Earth."

Radagast, wringing his hands with anxious energy, muttered, "Should he be brought here? Tested, trusted?"

"We shall see."

* * *

(6/14/13): Hi all. I'm back, sorta. This chapter was halfway written for months, and I hated what I had written, so I scrapped it and rewrote it these past few days. I'm challenging myself to write 500 words per day this summer, so the product itself is not necessarily great. This chapter is also filler until more fun stuff happens – as in, meeting all our favorite Elves and Wizards!

I apologize for errors and things that don't make sense.

At this point in the story: 1052 T.A. – Hyarmendacil rules Gondor, Mallor rules Arthedain. Harry Potter, age 22 approximately. Wizards arrived in Middle Earth somewhere around 1000 T.A. Lots of info can be found in the Appendices of "The Return of the King."

Also – lovely, lovely, reviewers. You are all so sweet :) Please don't hate me for not responding to review questions, or for taking forever to update (I'm a university student). PM me if you really want a response. And please do keep reviewing – it helps me refine my writing and keeps me thinking about the plot.


	4. Chapter 3

**Bold** indicates conversation in the language of Harad. _Italics_ without quotations indicates thought. Plain text indicates English or Westron – more likely Westron in conversation.

I will tend to refer to Harry as Harry for the foreseeable future, unless the story is being told from another character's perspective (in that case, his alias from the prologue - Dominic - will be used).

Deonvan returns – as I said last chapter, he will disappear eventually.

Of Gondolin and Gondor

Harry found himself trekking northwards under the cover of a moonless night of early spring.

It had been six months already since Harry pulled a Gondorian captive from Harad's dungeons, and the wizard was no closer to finding answers to how he had ended up where ever, and when ever, he was. There were times, though, that something in his mind itched, and his dreams wandered – unusual, since he had trained his mind to regulate his dreams (one year of nightmares post Battle of Hogwarts had forced him to learn). His dreams whispered as he woke sometimes – _farther away than you think_.

It was all rather frustrating.

He had stayed in Harad – hidden, since the community was highly insular, and his pallid features would have drawn undue attention if he had been in the open – until one morning he awoke with an irresistible urge to leave – an urge to which he provided no opposition, since answers were not forthcoming in Harad.

That was how he came to be under the stars, following the tracking spell he had placed on Deonvan for direction, and he came near the River Harnen – the southernmost border of Gondor, and a heavily guarded border from what Harry's probing senses told him. Luckily, Harry had thought to wear his invisibility cloak during his travels. Unluckily and unbeknownst to the wizard, there was a traveling Elf amongst the Gondorian guard this night, and Harry hadn't the slightest clue as to the sharpness of an Elf's senses. That, paired with a forgetfulness of his usual stealth enchantments (a mix of the silencing spell, a scent removing spell, and a shadow dispersing spell), would make for an encounter.

It was not long after Harry had crossed the River Harnen that he passed nearest the Gondorian camp. As the wizard chose a new direction to pursue, since it had become obvious to him that Deonvan was back on duty in the camp and Harry wanted to find a city _not a camp _(though it was pleasing to know that Deonvan hadn't been recaptured as of yet), Harry sensed something unusual. A magical, sentient being was amongst the camp of Gondorians, who were perhaps slightly magical, but not enough to warrant concern. This being, though, firmly registered in Harry's mind as fully magical, comparable to a wizard.

And this presence, though it was meandering as if to appear nonchalant, was coming Harry's way.

As deftly as possible, the wizard kept moving, hoping that his continued motions – rather than a sudden stop – would deter his pursuer. Unfortunately, his stalker persistently followed Harry, and the wizard realized that continuing on foot would be a fruitless endeavor. He could not cast his stealth spells now, or even more suspicion would be aroused at his abrupt, complete disappearance.

_What to do, what to do,_ thought the wizard as he treaded carefully through the short grasses near the river. On the one hand, this being was certainly magical, and could possibly provide Harry the answers he needed. On the other hand, this being was an unknown that was capable of tracking Harry when he was invisible in sight and near inaudible (despite his lack of a silencing spell, Harry was capable of near silent movement, a skill born of necessity with the Dursleys), indicating rather immense capability.

Eventually, after fifteen minutes of evasive maneuvers, Harry arrived at a sentiment of _to hell with it_, came to a gradual stop, removed the invisibility cloak, and positioned himself to face his approaching pursuer, Elder wand hidden yet at the ready in his sleeve. At that moment, Harry's pursuer apparently became bored and turned back toward the camp. Harry was somewhat offended at this change in pace, thinking to himself, _I was prepared for a confrontation and everything!_

And then it dawned on Harry; he was curious about this magical being. Curiosity hadn't struck him on this magnitude in ages. Perhaps he should celebrate by indulging his curiosity.

Yes. That sounded splendid – stupid, but splendid, and he wanted answers still, so at least there was a valid reason for his stupidity.

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak on again, and this time made sure to cast his stealth enchantments before stalking his former pursuer.

The wizard, however, had never encountered a creature that had the eyes and intelligence both to track footprints in the wild. He had never thought it a problem. Elves, however, had both keen eyes and intelligence in abundance, and a certain Elf could spot his footprints in the soft grasses with ease.

* * *

Two figures were huddled just beyond the torch light of the Gondorian border camp, conversing in hushed tones.

"It might be a night creature that you hear, Lord Glorfindel. There are predators that wander by our camps to scavenge by night."

The Elven lord frowned thoughtfully as he asked, "A predator on two legs? For that is what I hear, Deonvan, though I have never encountered a two-footed scavenger before. What's more, I can hear the creature but cannot _see_ it."

The scout – who had managed, by some stroke of luck, a night off to rest in the camp – paused at this observation made by the Elf lord. Elven senses were sharper than those of the Dunédain, and it was rumored that Elves could see in the dark as if it were daylight. For the Elf lord to hear but not see the approaching creature was paradoxical.

"That is odd indeed. Shall we investigate?"

"No… I will investigate on my own. Leave word with your captain to raise the alarm if I do not return within the next half hour."

With that, Deonvan was suddenly alone, the Elf lord having disappeared as only Elves could. The scout remained where he was, watching just beyond the torchlight, following what he thought was the Elf's silhouette under the stars' light, and keeping track of the time as best as he could. Near the end of the allotted time that Glorfindel had instructed, Deonvan began to rise from his crouched position, intending to find the captain and raise the alarms.

Just as stealthily as he disappeared, Glorfindel reappeared with the slightest of smiles brightening his features.

"I believe, my good scout, that I have piqued the interest of whatever is out there."

"How so, Lord Glorfindel?"

"I'm afraid there is no time to explain. Our curious, invisible wanderer is approaching fast, I can see by the footprints in the grass. We ought to be closer to the security of the camp for this encounter, come!"

Deonvan followed the Elf lord back into well lit areas of the camp, peering around once or twice to see if he could see these incriminating footprints – an attempt he failed at miserably. It took only a few moments before Glorfindel whispered into the scout's ear as they walked, muttering discretely as he explained, "Come, come, quickly now! Into the dining area, let us see what our wanderer will do in a large gathering. Perhaps they will be caught in the tangle of bodies."

The Elf guided Deonvan into the dining tent, stationing himself and the scout near the open entrance. Glorfindel's eyes intently surveyed the grass at the entrance, waiting for the tell-tale footprints. When they did not appear after a minute or so, the Elf lord's brow sank in consideration.

"It seems our wanderer is quite smart – mayhap it would be best if I confront this situation. This is no simple predator, and it would be remiss to allow this trespasser to escape. Fetch your comrades, and I will subdue – "

A sharp cry of alarm – "Invader in the camp!" – rent the otherwise quiet air of the camp outside the dining tent. Glorfindel left his sentence unfinished and swept out of the tent, his tall form visibly taught with anticipation and tension. Deonvan stood just at the entrance of the tent a moment longer, immobilized by indecision.

Then a familiar voice carried to the scout's ears, and Deonvan rushed out of the tent when he realized that a single voice was raised in a language that was most certainly _not_ Westron.

It was the language of Harad.

"Deonvan, over here!"

That was Glorfindel – who apparently did not know the Haradrim's tongue.

* * *

A fortnight ago, Harry had not anticipated being in Deonvan's encampment, let alone seeing the Gondorian scout obediently trailing behind a certain magical being – who was another surprise as well. Tall, blonde, and somewhat intimidating were the first descriptors that Harry assigned to the man. Pondering on his first meeting with Deonvan, and the scout's thoughts on Elves, the wizard concluded this being was an Elf, especially after analyzing his magical aura and discovering that the Elf was incredibly old – _thousands _of years old. Deonvan had been clear on that trait in his thoughts.

The wizard followed the Gondorian scout and Elf, understanding the trap as soon as he heard the quiet rumbling of a large gathering – catch subject's attention, abandon subject suddenly and hope subject is curious, lure to location with better advantage. A trick Harry had pulled numerous times, but at least the wizard knew that walking into that location – from the sounds of it, a dining hall – would be tantamount to surrender and an outright admission of idiocy.

That would be unacceptable.

So Harry waited near the entrance to dining tent, hoping to draw the Elf out into the more open and maneuverable pathways of the camp.

After a short stretch of tense seconds Harry's attention was drawn to a quickly approaching mass of bodies that had just rounded a nearby intersection in the paths, not more than 10 feet away. They walked shoulder to shoulder, orderly as expected of soldiers, and left a scant foot on each side between their bodies and the tents – barely enough space for Harry to avoid a trampling, since he had not (yet) found an effective enchantment to make him incorporeal, and he did not want to chance losing the Elf by changing his position. He made do, backing as close to the tent as he dared.

And then one of the soldiers stepped on his foot.

That someone stared intently at where Harry's foot should have been for a moment, cautiously nudged the invisible appendage, and then promptly raised the alarm as he yelled, "Invader in the camp!"

Chaos ensued, voices erupted in alarm throughout the camp, and Harry panicked for one short second before pulling himself together.

The soldier that had raised the alarm blindly grabbed at the space Harry had inhabited only moments previous, but the wizard had deftly dodged to the side, calculating his next move rapidly as he moved – _invisibility cloak is a hindrance in battle, too unwieldy, take it off, would it even make a difference if they saw me?_

No, no it wouldn't – not in Harry's mind at least – and the invisibility cloak made a quick disappearance into his pocket, shocking the nearby observers with his sudden appearance. A head of blonde hair emerged from the dining hall's entrance just as the wizard's form became visible once more. Harry mused that this was certainly not how he had expected to lure the Elf into the open, but it worked just as well.

Deciding to prevent a violent confrontation, Harry lifted his hands in a sign of peace, and raised his voice above the din of the alarmed camp, saying, **"Be at peace, Gondorians!"**

Harry's words had the opposite effect of what he hoped for; rather than calming the mass of soldiers, they seemed to bristle at his words. The wizard took a peek into the nearest man's mind, and though he didn't understand the language these men thought in, he understood the sentiment and images associated with the Haradrim's language– _enemy, hostile._

The blonde Elf, whom Harry was keeping on an eye on, called out and within moments Deonvan was at the Elf's side, staring incredulously at Harry, who was attempting (and failing) without magic to appear innocuous and harmless as the men nearest him shouted in Westron at him. Their yelling was to no avail, since Harry had bothered to learn only the one language, that of Harad, in the past six months.

While Harry continued to fail at communication, Deonvan considered how best to peaceably disband the growing mob. The scout resolved that speaking to Dominic (Harry) would demonstrate that the wizard was trustworthy, or at least not an immediate threat.

**"Dominic!"** Shouted Deonvan as he pushed toward the wizard, a name (pronounced the same, regardless of language) at which the Elf behind him inquisitively raised his eyebrows as he followed the scout.

Harry, grateful for the fact that someone in the camp could communicate with him, responded when the scout was within a few feet of the wizard, saying, **"Hello, Deonvan. It is good to see you have avoided being recaptured."**

** "Indeed! Though it seems our fortunes are turned since last I saw you."**

Harry's mouth thinned in a grimace at this comment. It did not pass the wizard's notice that the Elf had followed Deonvan over, and the two were now standing squarely between Harry and a crowd of suspicious soldiers.

**"Quite. It is fortuitous that you are not on duty tonight," **said Harry as he eyed the Gondorians amassed in the pathway.

Deonvan, noticing Harry's assessing gaze, hastily soothed him, saying, **"Yes, yes it is. Just a moment, and I shall explain to my comrades that you are no threat." **The scout turned toward the Gondorians, but paused mid-move as he pinned Harry with an inquiring look. **"You are not a threat, I assume."**

At this Harry genuinely smiled, though it was barely discernible and strained by years of disuse; the wizard appreciated Deonvan's caution.

**"I am not a potential foe, if that is what you are implying."**

At that, Deonvan faced his fellow Gondorians fully, briefly explained to them that the wizard was not a threat, and that Deonvan's magical, supernatural savior from six months previous was this very same man. Meanwhile, Glorfindel eyed the wizard pensively for a moment, lending half an ear to Deonvan's defense of the wizard. Glorfindel's thoughts drifted to Gandalf's words from the late fall – four months ago now.

_"But a child wizard there is. Dominic is his name in Mannish tongues."_

So the wizard had been found by chance, as Glorfindel had merely been passing through the camp during his travels to acquaint himself with Middle Earth. However, the council had never decided on whether the boy wizard should be tested for his trustworthiness. Saruman had fully supported a forceful testing of the boy, while Gandalf and Galadriel had stated that this Dominic's actions would eventually speak more truthfully than the boy likely could. Glorfindel agreed with the latter opinion, and as he listened to the brief retelling of Deonvan's rescue (the reports from Osgiliath four months previous had been scanty at best) the Elf became sure of his agreement with Gandalf and Galadriel.

The Elf's thoughts were abruptly brought back to the present when a captain stepped forward, declaring, "Though your testimony is truthful, no doubt, this outsider will have to see the commander of the outpost and obtain permission to remain here."

Ten short minutes later found two field captains, one outpost commander, Deonvan, Glorfindel, and Harry (through Deonvan's translations) discussing Harry's appearance and the conditions under which the wizard's presence would be permissible. Eventually, the deepest point of contention arose.

**"The commander wants to know how you infiltrated the camp, Dominic."**

Harry considered his response for a moment, and chose a lie as he said, **"The same spells that smuggled you out of Harad's capital smuggled me into this camp."**

No need to let them know about a priceless family heirloom that was part of a highly magical and dangerous triumvirate – no need at all. Thankfully, Deonvan knew nothing about the cloak, and readily translated the lie to the commander, who thought for a few long moments before declaring his verdict on the wizard's presence.

"While this wizard's appearance was disturbing, and his motivations for entering the camp unclear, I do not think that ill-will is his intent in light of his rescue of a Gondorian from the dungeon's of the Haradrim. I will allow his presence tonight, if you – Deonvan – will watch him. He will leave on the morrow before the noon meal." With this, the commander paused and pointedly met Glorfindel's eyes before saying, "And if you are willing, Lord Glorfindel, I would be at ease if an Elven lord would also watch our visiting wizard."

The Elf nodded easily in agreement; he was curious anyway, and this gave Glorfindel a golden opportunity to converse with the wizard.

Deonvan, meanwhile, quickly relayed this verdict to Harry, who had no qualms about the situation. He _had_ come sneaking in (a rather rude thing to be caught doing) and he returned the Elf's curiosity – the fact that this Elf was a lord of some sort piqued Harry's interest. This arrangement also gave Harry the opportunity to learn another language; one night was more than enough to use his advanced language spell to learn Westron and speak with the Elf for some hours.

And so, through some silent agreement, the three secured a fire away just a short way from the main tents. Immediately, as soon as the three were seated comfortably with provision and water in hand, Harry cast the language spell, and resolved to tell Deonvan of his intended use of the next three hours.

**"Deonvan."**

The scout paused mid-bite, setting down his dried meats and bread.

**"Yes, Dominic?"**

** "I would like very much for you and Lord Glorfindel to converse in Westron for a few hours. There is a spell that will allow me to understand the language if you do so, and then I will be able to speak with you both without the need for translation."**

A thoughtful look came into the scout's eyes before he amiably enough responded, saying, **"I believe that Lord Glorfindel will not mind."**

Glorfindel, for his part, reigned in his curiosity and satisfaction quite well when the scout relayed this to him. The Elf had expected stilted and awkward conversation through translation, but this would far improve the situation.

Unexpectedly, Deonvan opened the conversation that would occupy the next three hours of time and managed to choose one of the few topics that Glorfindel was not sorely uninformed on. Considering his stay in Mandos' Halls and Aman for all of the Second Age, the Elf lord was somewhat ill-versed in the past 4,000 years or so of Middle-Earth history and politics.

"Lord Glorfindel, if you do not mind terribly, I would like to hear about Beleriand and the First Age. I have heard the stories since childhood, but never from one who lived it."

Thankfully, Glorfindel's wounds and sorrows from the First Age had healed during his time inhabiting the Blessed Isle, or he would not have been amenable to reliving such tragic stories.

* * *

(6/21/13): Quick update, what… what? So far I'm living up to my challenge, but that means not my best writing. Oh well. And I apologize for the lame ending of this chapter. The next segment of the story is too long to tack on here.

ALSO huge response to the last update so I'll keep with this fic. Hopefully. Thank you all for being interested!

Anyway – some relevant info. 3018 T.A. is the year that Frodo leaves the Shire, so a little less than 2,000 years to go. Expect liberal usage of time skips. Also – I did mention the animagus transformation in the prologue. Harry has an animagus form, I just haven't decided on it yet (more ideas please?). And a friendly reminder - no romance, kids, beyond mentions of canon couples. I can't do the genre - I have a terrible relationship with relationships.

Reviewers – you keep me working hard to improve and think. Please continue to do so! Even two word reviews are still reviews, lovelies.


	5. Chapter 4

(Conversation will be in Westron, unless otherwise noted.)

Through Field, Forest, and Mountain

Harry could be quite deceptive if he so chose, quite frequently lacked the scruples to feel guilty about deception, and tonight he did so choose to be deceptive. Earlier, when the commander had said that Harry could spend the night in the camp, he had fully intended to use that time to speak with the Elf seated across the fire, while using legilimency to get a fuller story of course. Now, though, the wizard had different ideas in mind.

No, Harry would not be staying overnight. The wizard had managed to peer into the Elf's mind when Glorfindel glanced his way during the telling of his tales, and the wizard was suspicious of what he saw there. Glorfindel apparently had already heard word of a wizard named Dominic before tonight, which was not an issue. The problem for Harry came when, as he caught the Elf's gaze on several separate occasions, a particular series of fragmented thoughts occurred again and again.

_Trustworthy, testing, Saruman argued for capture, ask forgiveness later_.

Capture. _No, no, absolutely not allowed, _Harry thought to himself. He was not captured at the moment; he and his hosts knew that Harry – being unrestrained and minimally supervised – could escape, with perhaps some difficulty thanks to Glorfindel's presence, but he could escape nonetheless. The Elf was thinking of something else, someone else, who wanted Harry incapacitated, and that was a prospect Harry could not allow to come to fruition, no matter how badly he wanted answers.

Capture. The word brought to mind the agony of his own face, swollen painfully, Ron and him helpless captives in Malfoy Manor.

Hermione's screams – distant memories – echoed in the wizard's mind.

The three hours were almost up, and then Harry would disappear into the night. It would not be a rude departure, but it would be a firm departure, Harry was certain of that.

* * *

Glorfindel regaled Deonvan with tales and lengthy descriptions of Gondolin before the mighty city's fall, telling the scout of the city's fairest houses, noble courts, and diligent citizens. But, every now and then, Glorfindel felt a gaze – heavy with intelligence and something indefinable – bore into his side, and the Elf would find himself meeting the wizard's eyes as he spoke.

In those moments, he felt as if he were before Galadriel, with his thoughts and feelings bared to the world. The Elf ruminated on this sensation as he spoke to Deonvan.

The possibility that this wizard could see into minds was not so far-fetched to Glorfindel.

Abruptly, when three hours had passed, Dominic stood and spoke in Westron, wooden and stoic, saying, "I must leave. I apologize for the suddenness, and I thank you for your kindness Deonvan."

For a moment, Elf and scout alike stared dumbfounded at the wizard, who was quite agitated now, visibly eager to depart, and already moving to leave. Then, Glorfindel shook himself from his momentary stupor. The Elf was not about to give up on such a curiosity so easily.

"Might I ask of your destination, Dominic? I also will be traveling afield, and would not mind company or to leave at this hour."

For a moment, Dominic's answer was a minute darkening of his expression paired with a raised eyebrow, as though he considered the inquiry irritating, and was attempting to restrain himself from outright ignoring the Elf's question.

"North. I do not have a specific destination. And what need have I for company?" The last was an imperceptible challenge, spoken with barely noticeable coldness.

"You may have no need of company, but I find travelling easier to bear with others who might fill the silence," Glorfindel responded amiably, choosing not to rise to the aggression hidden in the wizard's words. Considering his next move carefully, as Dominic stared at the Elf doubtfully, Glorfindel chose to act on his earlier thoughts that the wizard could read minds.

Deliberately, Glorfindel met Dominic's gaze, thinking of the intentions of all the council but Saruman, as he said, "There are also others who have heard of you and would like to meet you – no more than that. Lord Elrond, and Lady Galadriel – perhaps the eldest and wisest of Elves in these lands, beside myself – are amongst them, and both reside in the lands to the north of Gondor."

The wizard considered Glorfindel's words for several long seconds, his gaze never once wavering from the Elf's eyes.

Something gave way in those green eyes – not quite a gentling of the hardness but a lessening of sharp wariness – and Glorfindel smiled to himself as the wizard sighed before saying, "Very well. Let us go to these Elves then."

* * *

Two figures stood atop a treeless knoll, one glaring fiercely at a golden wood glistening under the noon sun's warmth in the near distance.

"I will not, Glorfindel."

The Elf sighed, choosing to indulge the wizard's obstinacy as he replied, "As you wish, then. But why, Dominic? The Lady Galadriel is wise, and could tell you much about Middle Earth that I cannot, since I have been in absence for so long."

Harry's glare morphed into an unhappy grimace at that. The wizard had deigned in the past month of travel to reveal a few things to Glorfindel – his age, a lack of knowledge about Middle Earth, and that he woke in Harad some months ago now, and with that exact word choice, "woke" was both nicely descriptive and vague enough to suit Harry's purposes. Leave it to an Elf (Harry had learnt by this point that they were crafty enough to drive a saint mad) to turn Harry's need for information into a reason to see a_nother_ Elf, doubtlessly just as crafty as the last.

Leave it to Glorfindel to deliberately omit certain information about this Elf being telepathic. Leave it to Glorfindel to only suggest Lothlórien after having extracted a guilty promise from Harry to not peek into the Elf's mind without either permission or warning, and then not allowing Harry to use legilimens after that. (How was Harry to know that Glorfindel felt it when the wizard was rifling through his thoughts? As far as Harry had known, only trained wizards could detect use of the mind arts, and magical though he was, Glorfindel was no wizard.)

Leave it to Glorfindel. Infuriating Elf.

Harry could sense the immense mental presence within the golden wood's boughs. He could feel the curiosity emitted and something probing at the boundaries of his own mind; Harry concluded that that was the Lady Galadriel's powers at work.

Grimace deepening into an outright frown, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched, Harry mumbled a half-hearted response as he quickly threw up further precautionary mental shields through occlumency.

"Allow me to counter with a question of my own. Why did you not tell me the Lady is telepathic, Glorfindel?"

"I feared you would not even consider approaching Lothlórien had I told you from the start. You did, after all, trust me with naught but your name until two weeks ago."

Harry's ire diminished at that. The wizard had been rather hostile and skittish for several days after they had departed from the encampment by the River Harnen (though he wasn't necessarily less skittish or hostile now, he just was less obvious about it), and had only begun being conversational in the past two weeks. As such Glorfindel's cautionary treatment was maybe justified. Maybe. The wizard would not admit that out loud, though. He simply chose not to refute Glorfindel's rather sound assessment of Harry's previous disposition.

In a gesture meant to mollify, though all it did was invade Harry's personal space, Glorfindel's hand came to rest on the wizard's shoulder as the Elf declared, "Let us go to Rivendell then. Lord Elrond is a fair judge of character, but he lacks Lady Galadriel's might of mind."

With a disgruntled narrowing of the eyes, Harry griped, "Are there any other morsels of knowledge you might parse out about Lord Elrond, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel chuckled heartily at that. The Elf had learned quickly that Harry was rather sarcastic, even in the best of moods.

"Perhaps a little, Dominic. He is a renowned healer and a warrior, wise and strong as is expected of an Elf of his lineage. Nothing more, nothing less."

Harry wondered at that. _What lineage?_ Glorfindel had, during their two weeks of travel where Harry actually spoke, only managed to cover the very basics of the theology and happenings of the First Age. The wizard let the thought drift to a back shelf in his mind as Glorfindel beckoned to him. The Elf had already reached the bottom of the knoll, and was grinning quite smugly at Harry's distraction.

Infuriating Elf.

* * *

Galadriel's Mirror was quiet and perfectly reflective beneath the Elf lady's gaze. She had been about to look into the mirror, but it seemed the need had passed. Glorfindel's presence had made itself known to her at the border of Lothlórien, and with the revived Elf lord there was another – a wizard.

The two lingered for only a few minutes at the borders, but it was enough.

Galadriel's mind was deep and strong, but above all her mind was subtle. The wizard had not known that, for his shields were blunt instruments, susceptible to leaking out thoughts and feelings here and there.

Yes. That was enough for the Lady Galadriel to understand this wizard's ways, this Dominic's intentions. She smiled as she called forth a faithful servant.

A message to Lord Elrond was in order.

* * *

Harry considered the mountains looming ominously before them, the sun setting darkly behind the peaks and casting sharp shadows against the land. Two days previous the Elf and wizard had passed the northernmost reaches of Lothlórien, and now were poised to cross the mountain paths. Thankfully, it was late spring now, and the passes were likely to be clear.

But there was a chance they wouldn't be clear, and Harry had the depressing inclination to think that they would be quite difficult to pass. That was his luck after all.

That was not so much a problem in itself, if the paths were difficult. He could fly through the gorges and between the peaks. If he were alone that would be the case, but unfortunately he needed his Elven guide, who was currently unpacking for the night. The wizard pondered briefly on Elven resilience; the mountain passes would be manageable if the Elf could withstand extreme cold and snow, since the wizard could take care of himself well enough.

At that moment, Glorfindel gestured for Harry to come to the fire for their usual evening meal and small talk. Earlier in the day the wizard had gathered up edible plant life – having asked Glorfindel for the names of the various vegetables, nuts, and berries, and put the Point-Me spell to considerable work – and their meal was simple, though satisfying.

Conversation was becoming less stilted for the two, and words weaved in between bites of food and sips of water. Typical conversation revolved around the history and mythology of Middle Earth. Not so tonight. Unfortunately for Harry, Glorfindel was apparently in the mood to test the boundaries of what the wizard was willing to talk about.

"What of your life before Harad? You said you awoke there, but have said nothing of your origins. You are certainly not a native of Harad. You lack their features."

The wizard bristled at that, and then shrugged with forced nonchalance as he grumbled, "What of it? There is little to be said."

Undeterred by Harry's reticence, Glorfindel said, "Well, surely you had a life of some sort. It cannot be that you sprung into existence in Harad, fully formed as you are with all your oddities. Even the other wizards had lives – friends, foes, worries and cares in Aman – before their current incarnations."

Choosing to ignore Glorfindel's words about friends and foes (he had plenty of the latter,_ thank you very much_), Harry focused in on Aman as he evasively replied, "You were in Aman, and neither saw nor heard anything of me – or at least, I nothing of you. How can you think that I had a life there?"

"There are some who are more reclusive than others in the Undying Lands. Perhaps you are of a lesser known group of Maiar."

"Your conjecture is…" At this Harry's gaze drifted away from the Elf, unseeing eyes reminiscing about friends either dead or beyond reach, before he finished he sentence, "Quite wrong. I am not from the Undying Lands, and my life before Harad would certainly not be like that of a Maiar, considering what you have told me of them."

Glorfindel – who perceived not a small amount of pain in the wizard's expression and did not want to jeopardize their companionship with more inquiries – left Harry to his thoughts and meal. The wizard was grateful for the reprieve from conversation, as his mind had drifted to his friends, estranged and dead alike.

The Elf was lying down, blank eyes staring at the canopy of summertime bright stars, before Harry's mind returned to the present. Harry had been perturbed before by the way that Elves slept, but now… he was accustomed to it. He had stayed with someone long enough to become use to their ways. It was an odd experience, since Harry hadn't travelled with anyone in almost four years now.

Harry almost dared to think of Glorfindel as a friend, or at least a good acquaintance, but then his thoughts shifted guiltily to his estranged friends and the gulf – both physical and emotional – that lay between him and them.

The estrangement between Harry and his friends and former comrades was widened by his stay in Middle Earth – not because of distance, but because Harry found himself wondering more and more, the longer he traveled with Glorfindel, if he should even bother trying to find his way home. There had been no sign, no indication, of this place's relation to his own home, or if there was even a way for him to find home. And worse yet…. His friends at home (wherever that was relative to Middle Earth) were mortal, and one day he would have to watch them grow grey and die, or worse yet have them torn from him like Hermione and Ron. He did not want to see that.

Elves, as Harry had learned, were immortal. They could not do that to Harry.

The guilt of even entertaining such thoughts ate away at the wizard during the night hours, when Glorfindel rested and could not jovially harass the former boy savior into savoring the present.

Morosely eying the Elf for a moment, and cursing him and Elven kind for their place in the wizard's predicament, Harry shoved his rueful mood away. He would continue trying to find a way home; the memories and forgotten happiness deserved at least that.

For now, he would bury his thoughts and feelings in his animal form. _Like Sirius in Azkaban, but less dire and perhaps a good deal more pathetic_, thought the wizard as he stalked away into the darkness, transforming once Glorfindel's blond hair was definitively out of view.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the wizard, Glorfindel had woken when the wizard had left the firelight, and had also seen something quite unusual as he lay unmoving except for his eyes.

A man turning to beast – the Elf had never heard of such a thing.

One day the Elf would confront Dominic about this. For now, there was too little trust between them for Glorfindel to inquire about something that seemed so private – something that seemed to be reserved for nighttime and despair.

* * *

Two days after Glorfindel's discovery found the Elf and wizard trekking through deep snowdrifts. Much to Harry's chagrin, the mountains were nearly impassable by normal means. That was not the problem for the wizard, though, not at all; he simply cast a feather-weight charm on himself, and all was dandy.

But it seemed that Elves came with a built-in feather-weight charm.

Harry glared – perhaps petulantly and childishly, but the Elf couldn't seem him anyway – at Glorfindel's back. Some species were simply given all the luck, it seemed.

* * *

"Let us stay in Eregion for a time, Dominic. The air is light here, for there was an Elvish settlement here in the past. Moreover, I do believe there are some in the area you might like to meet."

Before them was a green valley, beautiful if a bit desolate. Harry scoffed good-naturedly at Glorfindel's suggestion, saying, "Not more Elves? You are rather a handful on your own at times."

The Elf, taking no offense, laughed merrily and replied, "Not at all! Dwarves, my good wizard. They do not care much for Elves, but they might admit an Elf in their halls if I have a wizard in my company. Besides, the Dwarves of Moria have access to a particular precious metal I would like to show you. A wizard such as yourself might be able to work strange feats with _mithril._"

Harry pondered Glorfindel's words for a moment, puzzling out the hidden meaning in those carefully spoken sentences.

"You want to see if I can magically extract _mithril,_ do you not?"

Smiling innocently, though with a devilish smirk in his eyes, the Elf said, "Of course not! But if you could, that would be quite the boon. _ Mithril_ is notoriously difficult to mine."

Despite himself, Harry was a tiny bit curious about these Dwarves, and nodded reluctantly as he gestured for Glorfindel to lead the way.

* * *

Harry found Glorfindel's words about _mithril_ mining to be quite true. The Dwarves were so grateful for Harry's assistance in extracting a large batch of _mithril_ that they allowed both the wizard and Elf room and an honorary seat with the noble Dwarf families at meal times for a week, along with a few precious morsels of _mithril_.

Then the travelers were promptly on their way to Rivendell once more when a Dwarf insulted Glorfindel's obscenely blond hair. Thankfully the Elf had been polite as they scurried away, at least.

Harry gave Glorfindel the cold shoulder for that day of traveling, for several reasons. The food and drink in Moria were quite good, and the Dwarves had been raucous good company as well; far more pleasant than sleeping in the open with an infuriatingly lively Elf, eating whatever animals and vegetables chose to be fortuitously in the area.

* * *

Another three weeks of leisurely walking – it was summer after all, no need to walk briskly – after leaving Moria brought Harry and Glorfindel to Rivendell. Harry's first sight of the Elven haven from the paths along the gorge robbed him of all conscious thought for a moment. But Harry's first sight of any inhabitants was far more significant than a single lost breath.

As the travelers drew near, two Elvish men became visible at the gates, grins adorning their ageless features.

"Welcome back, Glorfindel! Our father has been awaiting your return."

"And you have brought a guest as well, it seems."

Dark hair, grey eyes, timeless, ageless.

Harry did not know the how, the why, the where, or the when – but he understood, as some hazy memory shook loose in his mind, that he knew these faces.

He knew their names, even though the rest of the memory was hidden from him still.

Elladan and Elrohir.

* * *

(7/11/13): Heyyy. This took a little while. I'm sorry, I got distracted by hulu, outlining this story, and a golden retriever puppy. (A little diddy called Violin Concerto No.1 by Philip Glass got me back on track, listen to it because it's the piece that started this whole story). This turned out a little rough, since it's unedited.

Anyhow, thank you all for you feedback on the last chapter and ideas for Harry's animagus form! It's helped me think through what suits him. That being said, I kind of have something in mind that no one has suggested – not a magical animagus (since they can sometimes come off as super!overthetop!Harry, and this isn't intended to be super!Harry, just colder/smarter/immortal!Harry), but more like a mythical/unconfirmed creature. We'll see how you like it when the big reveal comes.

Again, the **year is 1053T.A**. still; Bilbo's 111th birthday is in 3001T.A., and Frodo leaves the Shire in 3018T.A.

I also have several interludes planned, as well as the next 5-10 chapters outlined, so chapters should come out with fair regularity the next two months.

Thank you reviewers! I love you all, you keep me going ;) Please keep reviewing!


	6. Interlude 1

Interlude: (Mourning)

The Boy-Who-Lived. Such a sad title. Harry found it unfair that the label had held true for so long. So many had died who had given more effort to survival than Harry ever had, and yet the Boy-Who-Lived… lived on. People who had so much more to live for – Tonks and Remus had Teddy, Fred had George – had died tragic, unheralded deaths, though at least their sacrifices were remembered and celebrated. Yet Harry had so little to live for – Ginny, yes, but that was not what it once was, the vivacity and warmth was leeched away by the war.

Hermione and Ron. He had lived for them; they were two of the few people that made his life worthwhile. They lived for each other, and for Harry – for the Golden Trio.

Now they too were gone, and the Boy-Who-Lived continued living on.

He was beginning to forget what living meant, how it was suppose to go. How to smile with heartfelt warmth, or how to vent his sorrows. He had no more tears. _Perhaps emotions are an exhaustible thing_, he thought to himself.

What was the point in being the Boy-Who-Lived if he had forgotten how to live? The name was more curse than blessing.

* * *

The service was private, closed to all but the closest friends and family of the deceased. Harry was sandwiched between a tearful Ginny and a heartbroken Mrs. Weasley. He knew anyone who could see his face was worried; the teenage savior's face was a mask of apathy at this point, which was in some ways worse than any contortion that grief could put on a face.

No viewing. The damage done to Ron and Hermione's bodies was too violent for that.

The burial was short. No priest. Wizards and witches weren't religious after all.

And afterwards, Mrs. Granger, in her own gentle way, kidnapped Harry with Mr. Granger's help.

* * *

"Hermione wasn't close to many people, other than you and Ron. You should take some of these, it's not as though I or my husband understand what any of these books mean. The rest will be donated to Hogwarts."

Staring into Hermione's old room – stacked high with both the arcane and strange of wizarding literature – Harry was surprised by the knick knacks here and there. Hermione hadn't really been the type for clutter.

"I… are you sure?"

In some way, Harry knew he should be saying no, trying to get the woman to keep mementos of her own daughter, but Harry ever so selfishly wanted more to remember Hermione by.

Her beloved books, so freely offered. How could he say no?

Teary-eyed but steadfast, Mrs. Granger said, "Of course, dear. Go on, take a look. We'll have tea and biscuits waiting downstairs."

Harry didn't want tea or biscuits. He just wanted Ron and Hermione. Still, it would have been rude to leave without saying goodbye. The teen perused the books – looking for the ones that Hermione had obviously given more time and attention to, with scribbles and notes here and there – accumulated a sizable pile, and shrunk them into his pocket before he made his way downstairs.

He had one sip of tea, and gave the Grangers brief hugs before apparating away.

* * *

It was unhealthy, the path to something Harry didn't want to think about, but here he was, doing it anyway.

The thrill of things illegal was one of the few things that kept Harry from sinking into a deep depression. He had not dabbled in drugs or anything of the sort, not at all. He couldn't, not with Hermione's voice having taken up semi-permanent residence as his conscience.

But books? Illegal books? Rare magical artifacts? Well conscience-Hermione couldn't object to that really (and he knew he was crazy to think of his conscience like that, but Harry _just didn't care_ anymore). Knowledge is power and all that rot.

And it was during one of his many lightly disguised trips into Knockturn Alley that Harry found another unhealthy habit besides procuring literature on illegal magic.

He dueled an on-the run former Death Eater.

The adrenaline rush, the fight for survival, the thought of _maybe I'll die this time, Boy-Who-Lived-And-Died-At-Last_. How could he resist? It was better to feel anger and fear (and that smidgeon of satisfied vengeance, which he could not bring himself to acknowledge, not yet) than nothing whatsoever.

That was his first step into the underbelly of Britain.

* * *

"What do you think, Bill?"

The brothers – Bill, Charlie, and George – were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, enjoying a few brews as Fleur and Angelina shopped in Diagon Alley.

"Hm?"

Charlie explained, "About Harry. He seems… out of sorts lately."

George snorted at that, saying, "'Course he does. His best friends were buried only two months ago."

Silence fell as they reminisced about their baby brother and his fiancé, lost too soon to a bastard Death Eater and his entourage, intent on revenge.

Bill broke the silence as he mumbled, defeat coloring his tone, "Can't do much, now can we? He's got to grieve."

Charlie replied, "Well, I'm sure we can do something. He doesn't have to grieve alone. Invite him to the Burrow or a quidditch match. Make him live a little."

"Might as well try."

* * *

Harry went to two quidditch matches and several dinners at the Burrow before he stopped accepting the invitations entirely.

He didn't necessarily rebuff the Weasley's invitations. He simply didn't respond, often choosing to seek out criminal activity during the appointed dinner dates rather than deal with the pain of seeing his little remaining family-of-sorts torn apart with grief.

Because of him.

He knew that everything had fallen apart because of him. Voldemort was always after Harry. Voldemort was only resurrected thanks to Harry's own stupidity fourth year. Voldemort only came to Hogwarts because of Harry, only killed all those people because of Harry. The Death Eaters wanted revenge, by killing his two closest friends.

It was his fault.

* * *

Cup of tea clenched in her petite hands, Ginny sat with her mother at the Burrow, talking about the source of all her worries. The young woman's eyes glistened with unshed tears, born from helplessness and fear.

"I'm worried about Harry, mother…. I just don't know what to do. He leaves for days on end without a word, comes back bloodied and looking like death. And then he dreams, the nightmares he has would drive anyone insane."

The tears began falling. Ginny's voice choked and stalled as her mother's hands gently wrapped around her own.

"I think, mum, that Harry _is_ going insane. He's losing himself."

Mrs. Weasley did not bother with refuting Ginny. She could see it too.

"Will he see a healer?"

"No. I've asked him, cajoled, bribed, cried, _everything!_ He refuses. He barely talks to me anymore."

Undeterred, Molly asked, "Can you bring one to him?"

Ginny shook her head, her hair sticking uncomfortably to the tear-streaks on her cheeks.

"I've tried that. He just… left as soon as he saw the healer."

Molly had no words of comfort for her daughter, no way to right the wrongs done to an innocent boy.

"I think… I have to leave him. I remind him of everything that went wrong, and I… I remind him of everything that he can't have anymore, the things he and I had before everything went to hell."

Resolved, Ginny nodded to herself as she met her mother's eyes.

Molly gave her daughter a watery smile, her only sign of acceptance.

* * *

(7/12/13): Aaaaand this is a little depressing. As per usual, this is unedited and messy. We'll be back to Middle-Earth next chapter, which I have started writing. It'll probably be out in a week.

All of the reviews from the last chapter were really thoughtful and thought-provoking. Regarding Moria – I like the idea of Moria surviving, probs going to happen. Regarding romance – one day I might consider squeezing it in (that would be an adventure, I've written no romance), but for now I don't see romance fitting in with the story (Harry has a lot of healing to do yet), other than canon pairings.

Ladies and gentlemen who review are my favorite humans. Also, the last chapter got a ridiculous number of hits/visits, but weirdly few reviews (but all really high quality reviews!). Now, I don't want to seem greedy (even though I am greedy), but I loooove feedback, just like any other writer. It lets me know people actually like where this is going (or if they hate it, and maybe whether I should change direction), and it gives the readers a chance to get me thinking about things that I haven't really considered. If lots of people read but don't review, I feel like I'm doing something wrong :|

Review pretty please? :)


	7. Chapter 5

_Italics_ without quotations will generally indicate thought; for clarity, thoughts will always be followed by an indicator, such as _Blah blah,_ thought Harry. _"Italics"_ with quotations will indicate Sindarin conversation.

Summer in the Haven

Harry stared, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed minutely, at the twins while they conversed happily with Glorfindel for a few moments, stunned by this breakthrough in his sealed memories. Suddenly, the twins turned toward Harry to make introductions (since none of them realized Harry's foreknowledge of their names), their eyes bright with a mirth that was lacking in the memory that Harry had of their faces. The wizard quickly schooled his expression into something resembling composure.

"We are the sons of Lord Elrond. Welcome to the Elven haven of Rivendell! I am Elrohir," said the first with a polite bow of his head.

"And I am Elladan," said the other.

An expectant silence fell between the three Elves and wizard, and Harry realized that Glorfindel had not introduced the wizard. How helpful.

With a coarse clearing of his throat, Harry said, "My name is Dominic. I am a wizard, new to these lands of Middle Earth."

At the twins' response to his declaration – their expressions had become rather thoughtful, with a touch of deviousness when he had said "wizard" – Harry realized he had possibly found a set of troublemakers.

Glorfindel, sensing an impending awkward silence, injected the conversation with fodder by saying, "Let's get to the dining hall then! We've not had our noon-meal yet, and I am certain Lord Elrond will not mind if we delay the sharing of news to satiate our appetites."

Harry nodded in agreement, having no suggestions otherwise. He was hungry anyway, and the group began their trek to the dining hall, with Harry positioned slightly behind the other three.

_"We've had news of your coming, you know," _Elladan said in Sindarin after a few moments of silence. The wizard trailing behind the Elves was, as expected, unable to decipher their words.

Glorfindel reigned in his expression, keeping it carefully neutral as he responded in Sindarin as well.

_"Have you now?"_

_"Yes. Our grandmother sent word two weeks ago,"_ Elrohir supplied helpfully, while tactfully avoiding Galadriel's name, so as not to alert the wizard to their subject of conversation.

_"Good. I will not have to abandon our wizard to your mercies in favor of seeing your father."_

That was the end of their brief conversation in Sindarin, though Harry had spent the entirety of the short exchange with his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He had not as of yet heard the Elven language, and was intrigued by the language. But, the wizard had the unsettling inkling that they were talking about him; since he had promised Glorfindel not to use legilimency without permission, Harry doubted he would find out anytime soon, assuming that all Elves could feel a foreign presence in their mind. He made a note to himself to learn the Elven language.

Once the little group reached the dining hall, lunch was a simple affair. The noon-meal had already passed an hour previous, but they were served fresh breads, fruits, and wine none the less. Throughout the entirety of the brief meal, Harry could tell the twins were eying the wizard curiously, obviously intent on unearthing the man's secrets.

Thankfully, Glorfindel knew Harry well enough to understand that letting the twins take reign of the conversation was a potential disaster. The Elf lord carefully directed the conversation into safer territory than Harry's general direction, saving the wizard the chore of explaining anything.

20 minutes of light conversation and fare, and a few minutes more of walking brought the three Elves and Harry to Lord Elrond's study.

"This is where we leave you, friends," said Elladan as he knocked on the study's door.

"Find us at the evening meal, won't you?" Elrohir called as the two spirited themselves away. Neither Glorfindel nor Harry felt the need to respond, since the twins were likely to hunt them down at supper anyway.

The door to Elrond's study opened with a soft sigh as the breeze from open windows within swept through the doorway, and Harry was met with his first sight of the Elven lord. For a tiny moment, Harry assessed the Elf's resemblance to his sons; similar, yet dissimilar, and there was something darker in the Elf lord's gaze than his sons' eyes, speaking of war and an ageless pain of loss.

Sweeping his arms wide in a gesture of welcome, Elrond said, "Welcome back Glorfindel, and well met friend of Glorfindel. Come in and be seated, I would like very much to hear of your travels and to meet our newcomer."

With that, the Elf lord stepped back, allowing the two entrance into the study. Elrond sat in a small reading area positioned before the unlit hearth of an elegant fireplace, and motioned for the other two to sit opposite him. Glorfindel spoke first, sparing Harry some of the awkwardness of first introductions.

"It is good to be back in Rivendell, Elrond. Middle Earth and the realms of men are so very different from Beleriand. But, we can speak more of Middle Earth in a moment. This," The Elf held an open palm out toward Harry, "is Dominic, a rather competent wizard from what I have gathered. He came across the Gondorian encampment along the River Harnen while I was also passing through, and we have travelled northward together these past few months."

A regal incline of the head, and Elrond said, "Well met, Dominic."

Harry, arriving at the conclusion that the words "well met" were a form of polite greeting, returned the gesture.

"Tell me of the wider world, Glorfindel. It has been many decades since I have seen the lords of the realms of Men, or walked in the eaves of ancient Fangorn."

Glorfindel spoke of his travels through Middle Earth for the next half hour, Elrond interjecting here and there with a pointed question or observation. Harry was grateful for the crash course on politics and the current rulers, and the wizard wondered if Glorfindel was going into more detail than necessary for Harry's sake.

"What is happening further south than Gondor's new border, I do not know. Though perhaps Dominic might know."

Harry's gratitude shrunk significantly at that, and he leveled the blond Elf with a brief glare before Elrond spoke. _So begin the questions,_ thought Harry.

"Is that so? Why, might I ask, would Dominic know more of the happenings in the South?"

Glorfindel merely smirked benignly at Harry at this, prompting the wizard to speak for himself.

"I awoke in Harad, some eight or nine months ago. There is little to be said of the tribes or the capital, other than the Haradrim are dissatisfied with their subjugation to Gondor, but lack the administrative power to act on their dissatisfaction."

"As is expected. The tribes have rarely had the organizational wherewithal to mount a counter attack." Elrond paused here, and Harry hoped that the Elf lord would leave the conversation at that. The wizard's hopes were dashed when Elrond continued. "You say 'awoke' as though Harad is not your homeland. Where might you be from, to make it so?"

Harry considered his response for a few brief seconds, deliberating how much to reveal to the Elf lord. Doubtless all that Harry had told Glorfindel would come to light eventually, and Harry wished very much to evade the question as he had done with Glorfindel. But this situation warranted a more truthful response; he was in Lord Elrond's home after all, and the Elf lord had a responsibility to assess any newcomer's threat or lack thereof. Harry had to say enough to quell any fears that the Elf might have about his presence.

"I am from a place that is unreachable, far removed from Middle Earth. Farther, perhaps, than even Valinor is from these lands."

That was more than Harry had told Glorfindel, who was visibly intrigued by this tiny revelation. It was a truthful assessment, from what Harry could tell. He could remember a night when he had used the Point-Me spell to check the direction of Aman. At least when he said "Point-me, Aman," the wand had spun decidedly westward. When he had done the same on his second night of stay in Harad, trying to find London, his wand had spun aimlessly.

It was painful, though, for Harry to admit out loud that his home country and its once-familiar faces and places were unreachable, as far as he knew.

Harry was brought back from his musings as Elrond spoke his next words.

"That is far, indeed." The Elf lord's eyebrows had lifted minutely, though his expression was colored more by curiosity than disbelief.

"I have found that Dominic is rather ignorant of the ways of Middle Earth, since he is from such a distant land. He might do well to stay in Rivendell and study your library for a time. I can attest to his character, if you need." Glorfindel suggested, knowing that the wizard would never outright ask to stay and use the library in Rivendell.

Harry had been caught up though in Glorfindel's words – attest, specifically. The wizard had been rude, sarcastic, evasive, and perhaps a little less than friendly for much of the trip to Rivendell. But there had been moments of camaraderie, and perhaps even friendship, though he was reluctant to label it that. _Attest to his character_. Harry didn't quite understand Glorfindel's motives. There wasn't enough trust between the two to warrant a voucher for his character….

Elrond, unaware of Harry's internal dissection of Glorfindel's words, said, "Perhaps. But if Dominic is to stay for an extended time, he will have to earn his keep."

Harry's gaze sharpened at that. That sounded something like responsibility, and responsibilities always meant a tether, a leash. Before the wizard could voice his dissent, Glorfindel moved to sooth the wizard.

"It would not have to be much. Rarely do guests of the house have to do more than run a few errands. At worst, you may have to keep the twins occupied from time to time."

The Lord of Rivendell smiled at the mention of his troublesome sons, saying, "At the absolute worst, Dominic, you may have to entertain Elladan and Elrohir. I do not think that I would wish that upon you more than once or twice a year, though."

And again, before Harry could speak up, Glorfindel made another suggestion, "Perhaps he could help you gather herbs for your remedies. As we travelled, Dominic was quite good at finding edible plant life with only the names on his tongue, knowing nothing else of the vegetation."

Meeting Harry's slightly bewildered gaze – just how the conversation had gotten away from him, Harry might never know – Elrond said, "Would that be amenable, Dominic? I only have need of fresh herbs once every week or so."

The wizard considered this proposal. No one seemed to be demanding more information concerning his background, though he knew that if he stayed in Rivendell that situation would change quickly. The library here would be extremely useful, and it would be beneficial for Harry to become familiar with the herbs that the Elves used; he could possibly adapt the plant life here to his potions. And perhaps staying here, near the twins, would help to release more of his locked away memory. Really the only drawback he could foresee was the certainty that he would eventually be accosted about his history….

Well. He was quite adept at avoiding interaction with other people when he felt like it. Harry would be able to postpone that conversation for a while.

_Decision made, then,_ though Harry.

"I believe that is acceptable, Lord Elrond."

* * *

"You took him in rather easily, Lord Elrond."

The two Elven lords had just left their new resident wizard in his room to settle in, and the room was now several halls behind them as they walked back to Lord Elrond's study to further discuss the politics of Middle Earth that Glorfindel had observed during his travels.

"Indeed. The Lady Galadriel sent word of him."

Glorfindel knew of this already, having heard from the twins, and said, "Had she any insights into his mind?"

Elrond's brows furrowed into a small frown as he said, "Very little. She said that his mind was guarded, but that she found a few of his thoughts eking beyond his watch."

The blond Elf wondered for a moment about Dominic's mental fortitude and the conversation they had at Lothlórien, saying, "Was it enough for her to judge his heart?"

"Almost. Galadriel did say that he could be trusted. His intentions, as she judged them, were just."

"That explains your easy acceptance of him, then."

* * *

As for Harry, he was glaring at his never-ending trunk while the two Elven lords walked back to Lord Elrond's study. Put his belongings on the shelves, in the drawers, and claim the room as his own, or keep his belongings hidden in hopes of finding a way home in the near future. That was Harry's decision. That decision was the reason for Harry's glaring at the inanimate object. Well, mostly inanimate. Sometimes the magical objects within caused a ruckus and shook the trunk, demanding the wizard's attention.

It was either choose this place as his home, or cling to the hope that he would go home. It was not necessarily an issue of practicality, either, since he could pack away his belongings with a flick of the Elder wand; it was a symbolic choice – a choice between an anchor, a tether, a home of sorts, and his nomadic lifestyle that was so strongly associated with his former home country.

He opened his trunk, dug out a few necessary items, re-shrunk the trunk, and shoved it back in his pocket with a despondent sigh. It would not do to give up so easily.

A half hour passed, with Harry meditating in an attempt to shake loose his memories, before a knock came at his door. The wizard extended his senses toward the presence at the door, and found there were two Elves at his door.

Ah. _Elladan and Elrohir, come with trouble more than likely,_ Harry thought as he rose from his seated position on the floor.

"Come in."

Harry was greeted with identical grins when the door opened, swiftly and silently.

"Good wizard! We apologize for our rudeness earlier."

The wizard had no clue who it was that spoke, and he responded with a mildly confused tone coloring his voice as he said, "What rudeness do you speak of?"

The other twin responded, "Why, we did not offer you a tour of our beloved Rivendell. It is the mark of poor hosts that we forgot to do so."

"And so, we would like to show you our home and valley before supper is served. Perhaps we can find Arwen, and you may meet our little sister as well."

The wizard was less concerned about their offer than who it was that spoke. One of them had a slightly deeper voice…

As Harry pondered the twins' identities, he absentmindedly responded, "That would be well. Lead the way, sons of Elrond."

The twins exchanged a subtle look of delight, and Harry was sure he had just agreed to something incredibly stupid.

* * *

Three hours later, and Glorfindel stumbled upon a somewhat frazzled (though just barely smiling) wizard and two very entertained Elves in the gardens. The blond Elf felt a satisfied expression settle on his face at the sight of Dominic's ire and minutely upturned lips; the wizard usually refrained from shows of irritation or emotion beyond sarcasm, if sarcasm could even be considered an emotion.

Taking pity on the wizard, Glorfindel called out as he approached, "Well now, Elladan and Elrohir. Have you shown our wizard Rivendell?"

Turning their attention away from the various transfigured and levitating objects (and possibly an animal or two) that Dominic had conjured up, Elladan and Elrohir sent saccharine sweet grins toward the approaching Elf lord.

Elrohir responded – Glorfindel could discern the twins by voice, their only differing feature being that Elladan's voice was of slightly higher pitch – and impishly responded, "The gardens were our first destination, as you can see. The gardens are quite enchanting, and deserve the bulk of our tour, don't you agree Elladan?"

Elladan continued the ruse, saying, "Indeed! With all the time that our mother and sister spend in the gardens, how could they be anything but enchanting?"

Glorfindel chuckled at the twins' antics, and then, seeing the increasingly pinched expression on Dominic's face, abruptly shooed the two away as he said, "I am certain that you have spent this time pestering Dominic into showing you magic tricks. Off with you! I will give our guest a proper tour of Rivendell."

The twins scampered, waving merrily at Dominic while they retreated, saying, "We shall see you at supper!"

Eying the wizard, who was sat on a low boulder near a burbling stream, Glorfindel watched curiously as Dominic banished the magical objects. The wizard sighed heavily and said, "Those two have quite a lot of energy."

"Yes, they do, and now that you've indulged them once they will be adamant in directing their energies toward you."

Dominic stood stiffly, his legs obviously sore from using such an uncomfortable perch, and set a withering glare on the blond Elf lord.

"Joy."

* * *

(7/22/13): Derp. This is a little late, since life decided to get in my way. Anxiety about grad school applications. Strained my wrist by practicing viola/writing too much in one day. The next update might be a bit delayed thanks to my wrist. This chapter was already mostly done when I strained my wrist, so now I just have to be careful and type only a little at a time.

Messy chapter. Filler also. A bit short. But I hope it satisfies!

**Re: relevant things reviewers mentioned**. Concerning legilimency and Galadriel: I just assume that Galadriel's supremely awesome at the mind arts since she's way old, differences of opinion are good though! Concerning Harry's lack of sensitivity to the mind arts: this is something I intend to explore in another interlude, since as I was writing I was also like "But Harry… you had horrible experiences with legilimency, what are you doing?" Concerning Harry's aging: I intend for Harry to age until he reaches an age that's neither young nor old – so probably until he's 30-35 or so. Concerning Beorn: It seems to me like Beorn and his former people (since Beorn was the last of his kind) were a reclusive bunch, so I'm guessing Glorfindel hasn't heard of them yet.

Reviewers – you are the loves of my life, and I thank each and everyone of you for your time :) I love all your feedback (and you squishums, I feel ya). Keep reviewing, and keep me inspired! You all have fantastic ideas that feed my brain, and I liiiike it.

Also – would anyone be interested in a prize for the 100th review on this story? Yes, no? Like, a particular interlude or one-shot? If nobody's interested, that's fine, I just have never reached 100 reviews on a story before and would like to thank reviewers somehow.


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